


The Curious Case of Emma Cassidy

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Memory Loss, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was already hard enough that he had to restore Swan's memories without any sort of potion; that she believed she was Emma Cassidy made it even harder. Non-canon take on 3x11 and 3x12. Captain Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on ffnet back in August/September 2014, but I've decided to start posting stories over here as well. So if it looks familiar, that would be why!

It had been over a year since Hook had been in this city, and he hadn’t missed it. He’d been a pirate for years, and a seafaring man for even longer, so he was used to being in close quarters with men in need of a good wash. But at least when he was above deck, or on land, there was fresh air and plenty of space.

How Swan could have found herself in this crowded, smelly city—how she could have chosen to make a life here **—** was beyond him.

Perhaps it had been Bae’s idea. He’d lived in this city before; after all, that’s what had brought the crocodile here, and why Hook had followed.

It was difficult for him to reconcile his feelings for Swan with his desire for her happiness. Maybe he didn’t truly love her, as he’d believed for so long, if he couldn’t be happy at the thought of her living happily with another man. Of course, that man hardly deserved her; he’d nearly ruined her ability to trust anyone, and Hook had been the one who had to start breaking her walls down. But no, he should be happy for her. He should feel guilty that he was here to take her away from that happiness.

He observed the building in front of him; the magic bean had brought him here, but there was no indication that she actually lived inside. The door wasn’t locked, though (although if it had been, that wouldn’t have _really_ been a problem), and he stepped inside and wandered over to the boxes in the wall with the list of resident names. There was no Swan anywhere … but there was a box that read “311: Neal and Emma Cassidy.”

She was no longer Swan. It felt wrong. It _was_ wrong.

He vividly recalled their last moments together, before Swan, Bae, and Henry climbed into that little yellow vehicle and drove off across the town line. He remembered her eyes flicking towards him worriedly as Regina explained that they could escape Pan’s curse—that she could give the three of them a life together, memories of always being a family. It was best for Henry, Regina had said. And it _was_ best for Henry; he would believe that he’d grown up with two loving, happily married parents.

Regina wanted Henry to have his best chance, and so did Swan. It was the right thing to do.

Their goodbye had been unbelievably brief and unsatisfying. For the first time in years (for the first time since he’d stumbled over his words trying to tell Milah that he loved her), he didn’t know what to say. After he’d made some inane comment about her vehicle, trying to ease the tension, she’d looked up at him with a devastatingly broken expression on her face. She had been holding back tears. It had been the wrong time to make jokes.

“There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you,” he’d said.

“Good.”

And that had been it. He had so desperately wanted to reach out and hold her, or at least touch her, and his body had felt as if it might fly apart as he stood still, holding back. And then Swan, Bae, and Henry had gotten into the vehicle and left, never looking back.

And not a day _had_ gone by he hadn’t thought of her. Her brilliant golden hair, the tension in her body as she anticipated a fight, the way she’d looked into his face the first day he’d met her and read him like a book. The kiss in Neverland that had practically destroyed him and turned his world upside down.

And now he’d see her again, under wildly different circumstances. This would be the second time they’d meet for the first time.

The door to progress into the rest of the building was locked; while that was likely prudent in order to prevent theft or other crimes from occurring, it did mean that he’d be unable to enter the building any further. He supposed that he could press the little button next to Swan’s apartment number; perhaps it would alert her to his presence, and she would come down and let him in.

Before he could contemplate the button any longer, the door opened. A young woman in extremely tight clothing was exiting the building. He caught the door with his hand and watched her leave; she appeared to be wrapped up in her own little world, wearing earplugs of some sort. She didn’t seem to notice him, or if she did, she didn’t seem concerned that he could enter the building. Not one to question good fortune, Hook stepped through the door and began making his way to apartment 311.

When he reached the door, he worried that his heart might burst from his chest, it was pounding so alarmingly. But he hadn’t come all this way just to turn tail and run like a coward. He’d received a message begging him to find Swan and bring her to Storybrooke; he’d traded his beloved ship for the bean that would bring him to her; and he was going to finish the job.

He knocked.

He should have been less surprised when Bae opened the door.

Bae looked good. After years of running from his father and trying to lay low, Bae had looked too old, and too worried. But with the life Regina had given him, he no longer carried those burdens. The lines and sadness were gone from his face, and he looked genuinely curious as he looked back at the apparent stranger in his doorway.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I need to speak to Emma Swan,” Hook replied quickly, thrown off enough by the disappointment of who’d answered the door that he forgot that Swan was no longer Swan (in more ways than one).

“Um, sure, one second,” Bae replied, and he turned to go back into the apartment before craning his neck back at Hook. “Who are you exactly? I mean, who should I tell her is here?”

“Killian Jones.” He nervously touched his prosthetic hand to make sure it was still secure. “It’s about her parents,” he added.

That seemed to get Bae’s attention; his eyebrows went up and he quickly disappeared into the apartment. Hook wasn’t sure if he should follow; the door had been left open, but he hadn’t been invited in. From where he stood, he could see a kitchen along a wall, and the beginnings of a parlor. Odd noises were coming from the living room. “Henry, save the games till after breakfast,” he heard Bae say faintly.

Henry. Hook’s pulse quickened. In his haste to rescue his Swan and bring her back to Storybrooke, he’d forgotten that it meant robbing Henry of his normal childhood. But before he could contemplate the matter further, Swan appeared. His heart beat even louder in his ears.

She had clearly just woken up; her hair was a bit flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, and she was wearing what he recognized as night clothes. And, just like Bae, her entire demeanor was different; she seemed years younger. He might not have recognized her had he not been seeking her out; without the burden of being the Savior, or the sadness of giving up Henry, she was a different person.

But one thing was still the same as before, and he could still read her easily: Regina’s memories had preserved Emma’s history of being abandoned at birth and growing up in the system. Bae must have told her that Hook was here about her parents; the pain and skepticism were clearly written all over her face.

“You have information about my parents?” she asked, not bothering to exchange pleasantries. He had to resist grinning: same old Swan.

“Aye,” he replied. “I was hoping we could meet to discuss the situation.” He glanced at Bae, who was standing in the kitchen, carefully watching the scene. “Privately,” he added.

“Now isn’t a good time,” Swan said. “I’m free on Tuesday at twelve-thirty. You can meet me at the coffee shop downstairs.”

He swallowed. “Aye, that would be fine.”

“Can I have your phone number in case I need to reach you?” she asked.

“I, um, well, my phone was stolen the other day,” he lied. “I’ll simply meet you on Tuesday.”

“Okay. Thanks.” And she shut the door in his face.

Still in shock at finally seeing Swan after so long, Hook stayed where he was. He supposed it could have gone worse: she could have refused to see him, or Bae could have slammed the door in his face from the get-go. Looking down momentarily, it occurred to him that in his attire, he stuck out like a sore thumb; it wasn’t likely that he could come across as anyone trustworthy in her eyes.

He was distracted from his thoughts by raised voices within the apartment.

“Henry, I think you should go to your room for a bit.”

“Neal, I think I can deal with _one_ New York City weirdo.”

“You didn’t even ask him for his credentials.”

“I can ask on Tuesday. Either he has information or he doesn’t. If he does, I can check out the lead on my own. And if he doesn’t, I’ll just leave. What’s the problem?”

“He knows where we live!”

“So if he ends up being a stalker, we’ll just call the cops! Jesus, Neal.”

“I just don’t want to turn on the ten o’clock news and find out that you were brutally murdered, Em.”

“Neal, we’ve been through this a million times. I can take care of myself. It’s part of my _job.”_

“Then let me go with you on Tuesday.”

“You’ve got a meeting Tuesday. You’ve been bitching about it for weeks.”

“You picked that day intentionally, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. It’s my day off this week.”

“I really have a bad feeling about this, okay? He might be lying.”

“He wasn’t lying.”

“You don’t _actually_ have a superpower, Em.”

“Fine. Then I won’t go. Happy?”

Hook frowned, but the conversation quieted down after that. Would Swan really cancel on him? There was no way for her to contact him; unless she knew he was still standing outside (and that seemed unlikely; the conversation sounded as if she didn’t know she was being overheard), that meant she expected him to show up on Tuesday and wait around, not knowing where she was.

Well, he’d just have to show up anyway.

 


	2. Chapter 2

On Tuesday, Hook arrived at the coffee shop early, purchased a black coffee, and slipped into a chair at a table near the back. It wasn’t terribly crowded, but in case Swan kept the date and made a scene, he didn’t want to be in the center of the shop. He shifted uncomfortably as he waited for his beverage to cool down.

It wasn’t as though he’d had any particular expectations when he received the message asking him to find Swan. He just hadn’t thought through any particular plan, besides finding her and talking to her. And that meant that when he’d shown up at her door on a Sunday morning, and she’d agreed (at least, as far as he was supposed to know) to meet with him the following Tuesday, he had to consider such mundane issues as where he would sleep and what he would eat.

He knew from his short time in Storybrooke that, while Granny accepted gold coins, the Land Without Magic operated on a different currency system. Fortunately, the city appeared to be full of shops offering to purchase gold in exchange for cash. He received what seemed like an excellent estimate on a single coin from one such shop, which appeared to sell jewelry as well, and managed to sell several of his coins for what seemed (based on the shopkeeper’s facial expressions, tone, and language) to be a significant sum of money. Just in case he was incorrect, and because he still had plenty of gold left over, he made a similar transaction at a similar shop in another part of the city.

A place to stay posed a challenge. He found a reputable-looking inn, but even though he could afford their rates, he lacked the identification that was apparently necessary for him to secure a room. He also clearly needed to find more suitable attire for the Land Without Magic; the staff at the inn were throwing some of the dirtiest looks he’d ever received, which surprised him given that they weren’t even aware of his history as a bloodthirsty pirate.

Eventually, his wanderings brought him to a part of the city that, against all odds, looked familiar. He knew he wasn’t very far away from Swan’s place; his sense of direction was excellent, and he’d written her address down just in case, but he was trying to avoid getting lost and becoming unable to get back to her. But he was definitely not near her dwelling, and for several minutes, he wondered if the city might finally driving him mad.

Against all odds, he had stumbled upon Bae’s old apartment building. Much to his delight and surprise (after breaking in and making sure he was, in fact, in the right apartment), he found the living space furnished and uninhabited. And covered in dust, with some very smelly items in the cupboards and the strange little cold closet, but it was a small price to pay for otherwise free lodging.

Bae had clearly planned to return to New York City at some point; the apartment was still filled with his belongings, including plenty of clothing. Hook felt a little strange trying on Bae’s clothes, but everything fit well enough and felt comfortable. He wore some of the clothes to a large indoor market and received no awkward stares, and that was enough for him.

The market was overwhelming. Most of the foods for sale were delicacies he’d never heard of before, and it was unnerving the way that some of the items were kept cold. He mostly purchased fruits and vegetables he knew would keep for a while, and some bread and dried meat. Finally, for the sake of living a little in this strange new land, and because he could tell from the listed prices that he wasn’t going to make a dent in his newly acquired store of money, he purchased a few mysterious items that he saw several other customers buying. Returning to Bae’s apartment, he got to work, putting the food into cupboards (some of it he tried putting in the cold closet, just in case), clearing the dust, and airing out some of the clothing and bedding on the staircase outside the window. On his way upstairs, after being let in by another person leaving the building, he’d spotted a resident placing refuse in a chute marked “TRASH,” and he made use of it as he cleaned.

And then there was nothing to do but wait.

He read a little, the books he’d saved before trading away the Jolly. He walked around the busy, dirty city, trying to get a better idea of how people lived and functioned in this realm. And he found himself walking by Swan’s apartment, on the off-chance that he would see her, Bae, or Henry and observe them. He never did.

And so on Tuesday, dressed in an outfit he hoped made him look trustworthy and presentable, and alternating between sipping his coffee and self-consciously tugging at the glove on his prosthetic, he waited in the coffee shop, wondering if she was going to show up.

But at twelve-thirty exactly, she walked into the shop. He sagged with relief momentarily—she was here—before tensing up again almost immediately _(she was here)._ She spotted him immediately, and he nodded at her, but instead of coming to the table, she went to the counter first. A few minutes later, she sat down with him, setting down a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon with one hand, and an elaborate and large pastry with the other.

“What do you know about my parents?” she asked, again getting right to the point.

“They’re in trouble, and they need your help,” he answered, truthfully.

“I’m not in the mood to have a kidney stolen,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. What on earth was she talking about? “Not a fan of ‘Lost,’ I take it,” she added before taking a sip of her chocolate.

“They’re in Maine. I can take you to them.”

“Where in Maine?”

“It’s called Storybrooke.”

She laughed. “All right, buddy. I guess my husband was right. Thanks for trying.” She stood up and began collecting her food and beverage.

He shot up from the table. “Please, believe me, it’s a real place. I can take you there.”

“Why would I go with you anyway?” she asked. “You want me to go grab my husband and son and get in the car with you?”

“Well,” he paused, scratching his ear nervously. “Yes, actually.” He wasn’t going to separate Henry from his family. That wasn’t what was best for Swan, and it wasn’t what was best for Henry.

“I need some proof,” she said slowly, sitting back down. “Can you tell me what my parents names are?”

“David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard,” he recited, returning to his own seat. Such bland names for some of the most interesting characters in the Enchanted Forest. Then again, it seemed as if David was, in fact, the prince’s real name, but it was all so very confusing with the curse and everything.

“What do they do for a living?”

“I’m not sure about your mother,” he said, “but your father is sheriff.”

“And why did they abandon me at the side of the road?” She held his gaze and took another sip of her beverage. “Why should I help them if they couldn’t even be bothered to bring me to a hospital when they deserted me?”

He paused. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about that,” he admitted. The details of the first curse seemed difficult to convey.

“I’ve been waiting to hear about that my entire life. Humor me.”

He shook his head. “Listen, they’re in grave danger, and you’re the only one who can help them. I swear to you, upon whatever you’d wish me to swear on, that I am not lying to you. Use your superpower and tell me if I’m lying.”

She was visibly surprised; it was surreal to see her without her emotions guarded so religiously behind her walls. “Have I apprehended you before or something?” she asked. “How do you know about that?”

“The same way I know who your parents are. The same way I know that you have a flower tattoo on your wrist.”

“You could have seen the tattoo.” She tugged on her coat sleeve nervously.

“You’re wearing a coat and gloves, love,” he pointed out. “And the other day, your night clothes had long sleeves as well. Long enough that I also couldn’t have seen the bootlace you wear around your wrist.”

“How—” she paused before standing up abruptly. “Clearly, you’ve been stalking me. I don’t care who you are, or why you’re doing it, but I take down perps for a living. So stay away from me, stay away from my family, and be prepared for a world of pain if you don’t.”

“Swan, please, wait!” he called after her as she stormed out of the coffee shop. Other patrons turned to look.

“It’s not ‘Swan!’” she shouted back before exiting.

He rushed out of the shop after her, but by the time he reached her building’s door, she was already gone. He waited a few minutes, hoping that he’d be fortunate again and someone else would inadvertently let him inside. But no one did. He went back into the coffee shop, relieved that at least his coat hadn’t been stolen, and slowly walked back to Bae’s apartment.

It had fallen apart so quickly. She had clearly trusted him enough to meet with him in the first place, but showing her that he knew her had upset her. He would need to try something else.

The next day, he walked through parts of the city again, trying to come up with a new way to get to Swan. Perhaps if he jogged her memory with …

… No, that wouldn’t work. She believed she was married to Bae—that she was in love with Bae. So it did not matter that he loved her so desperately that he had given up his home for a chance to see her again. As long as she didn’t remember him, and as long as she believed she loved Bae, there was no hope that a simple kiss would bring back her old memories.

He angrily kicked at a rock on the sidewalk. Swan believed she and Bae were in love. It wasn’t fair, to her or to him or to anyone. It might have been what was best for Henry, or at least what was best for him while he was separated from Regina, but it wasn’t _right._ He remembered that glance Swan had given him when Regina explained that she and Bae and Henry would be a family. She did not look hopeful.

And what reason did she have to be hopeful? She would be torn apart from her family, left without even the memory of their reunion. She would be playing wife to a man who had broken her heart so thoroughly that she no longer trusted anyone. She would be separated from _him —_

Although that, he knew, was wishful thinking. As much as their kiss had meant to him, he had quickly learned that it hadn’t meant the same to her. At most, she could miss their friendship, and even then, it seemed unlikely that she would miss him more than anyone else she’d left behind.

And yet _he_ was tasked with retrieving her. Clearly someone thought he was the right person for the job.

After stopping for something called “pizza,” which was unbelievably delicious, he returned to the apartment without any sort of plan. Perhaps he could travel to Storybrooke himself and get help—but how would he get there? Even then, he knew that memory spells were hard to break; even if Regina were willing to help—if she had even been cursed into Storybrooke again—she likely couldn’t undo the spell. It was a curse, even if it was meant to be a blessing.

He was bathing himself in the stall in the washroom (he desperately missed the Jolly, but this supposedly non-magical technology was absolutely stellar) when an obscene buzzing noise filled the apartment. He had no idea what it meant, but as he padded through the apartment, drying himself off, there was a knock at the door. Using his hand and his left wrist, he secured his towel around his waist.

The look on Swan’s face when he opened the door was priceless.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Hook enjoyed a few seconds of Swan gaping at him. She was still flushed as she seemed to remember why she had come to see him. “I want you to explain this,” she hissed, shoving small rectangular pieces of paper into his hand and then ducking away with embarrassment.

“How did you find me?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. He placed the papers on the table; it would be impossible for him to sort through them one-handed. They were what he understood to be pictures, moments in time captured forever and meant to be displayed. They were unbelievably common in this realm, but he was still getting used to them. There were several pictures of Swan and Henry in the stack she had handed to him, but also some of Mary Margaret, and plenty of Regina, frequently with Henry. He recognized several landmarks from Storybrooke, and Henry stood in front of some local businesses in some of the pictures.

The last of the pictures were very different. They showed Swan and the Dark One in a very strange setting, carrying luggage; the two of them sitting closely beside each other in a tiny, crowded room; Henry in front of a sign welcoming people to New York.

“Storybrooke isn’t _real,”_ she said angrily, pointing at signs with the town’s name in the pictures. “I Googled it as soon as I left yesterday. Why was my son’s camera even _in_ your apartment? I don’t even remember buying him that camera!”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, genuinely confused.

She blushed. “Okay. I followed you back here yesterday, and while you were gone today, I might have broken in.” She paused. “Sorry. I found a camera with Henry’s name on it, and I brought the film to be developed this morning.”

He hadn’t noticed anything that might have belonged to Henry, but then again, he wasn’t sure what a camera was either. It was probable that he’d seen the item but not known what it was. Either way, if it belonged to Henry, he had likely left it in the apartment last year by accident.

“We never took this flight!” she continued. “I don’t know this guy I’m in photos with. And who _is_ this woman hugging and kissing my son?” She pointed frantically at a picture of Henry with Regina.

“Swan, could you please calm down?”

“I haven’t been ‘Swan’ in twelve years!” she shouted, not taking his advice. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me. First you tell me that you’ve found my parents, and then you give me these photos …” She trailed off. He was about to point out that he _hadn’t_ given her any photos, as she had broken into the apartment and stolen them, when she pointed to his arm. “You only have one hand,” she observed.

“I had indeed noticed,” he said, not bothering to hide the irritation. He missed his hook, which he’d stashed in his leather satchel, and did not appreciate that she had made what he considered to be a rude observation. “If you’ll pardon me, you interrupted me while I was finishing bathing. Had I known you’d be dropping by at this hour, I would have made sure to be ready with my prosthetic so as not to alarm you with my deformity.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry. That was really rude of me.” At least she had the guts to admit it.

He shrugged. “I accept your apology. Besides, you are clearly very upset right now, and I _am_ the person who’s introduced all of this stress and uncertainty into your life.”

She looked at him for several long moments, not speaking, as if to assess him. “What was your name again?”

“Killian Jones,” he said, willing her with all his mental strength to _remember._

“Okay.” She sat down on the sofa. “And you want to bring me to my parents?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did—” but something on the low table in front of her caught her eye. “What the hell is this?” she asked, her anger returning quickly. She stormed over to him and shoved a piece of paper in his face. It was an envelope that read, “Neal Cassidy” on it, and had the apartment address listed underneath.

“How is this possible?” she demanded. “Neal’s never lived in this apartment. Are you trying to steal his identity or something?”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He didn’t mean to spit it out so disgustedly, but he was a little offended at the insinuation that he would _want_ Bae’s identity. Of course, he was jealous that it was Bae who got to live happily ever after (at least for the past year) with Swan, but it wasn’t as though the marriage were real.

“Listen, _Killian Jones,”_ she said, her voice low. “I want an explanation for everything. I want to know how you know who my parents are. I want to know why they need me. I want to know how you got a camera that belongs to my son even though he’s never owned such a camera. I want to know why there’s mail here addressed to my husband, who’s never lived here. I want to know why there are photos of me and my son in this town that doesn’t exist.” She crossed her arms. “And if you don’t tell me, or if I’m not satisfied with your answer, don’t _think_ I won’t call the cops.”

He bit back the challenge that was sitting on his tongue, which was that he hadn’t broken any laws, but he didn’t know what the laws here were like. Perhaps he had broken some laws. And from what he’d gleaned, Swan was still a bail bondsperson, so if she was threatening to have him arrested, it wasn’t necessarily an empty threat.

But what could he say to convince her? There _was_ no explanation, at least not one he could think of, besides the truth. He was unshakably sure that the truth wasn’t something she’d accept.

He had no choice, though. “The only explanation I have for you is the truth,” he said. “And I don’t think you’ll believe me. So I suppose I’ve wasted your time.”

“Then I want the truth,” she said. “I’ll be the judge of whether or not it’s believable.”

He clenched his jaw. How would she react to the truth? She hadn’t responded very well when he tried to prove that he knew her. Why would this go any better?

But she was staring at him, eyes filled with desperation, mistrust, and … perhaps hope.

“Your son’s camera,” he said, trying to get the pronunciation right, “was probably left here when you were here a year ago.”

“I’ve never been in this apartment before,” she immediately responded.

“You _have._ You just don’t remember.”

“Why wouldn’t I remember?”

He licked his lips nervously, feeling simultaneously as if he were drowning and dying of thirst. “Because you—both you and Neal—had to give Henry his best chance. You had to start a new life with him, and all that you remember … it’s just a story to give you a good life.”

“Why would we need to start a new life with him? How could our whole lives be just … just a made up story?”

“It’s a spell,” he admitted. “It’s complicated, I assure you.”

“A spell,” she said slowly. “Like, a magic spell. You think we’ve had a magic spell cast on us.” She wasn’t asking, but she clearly didn’t believe him either.

“Aye,” he said anyway. “And you need to remember what really happened. Your parents, they need you.” _He_ needed her, too, but that seemed unlikely to convince her.

“Why do my parents need me?” she asked.

“I don’t actually know why,” he admitted. “But I know them well enough. If they need your help, it’s for good reason.”

“Wait, you actually _know_ them?” She stood and approached him, poking him in the chest with her finger. “I thought you just had information. You _know_ my parents? You’re _friends_ with them?”

“I mean, well, I _suppose_ we’re friends.” He wasn’t sure that was really true. He and David had begun to get along in Neverland, and the prince and princess did seem disappointed that he wasn’t going to stick around when they returned to the Enchanted Forest. And, if he were allowing himself to be honest, he did miss some of the camaraderie he’d felt with them, before Pan’s curse had destroyed everyone’s happiness. “But that’s not why I agreed to help them.”

“How do you know them anyway? Why would you agree to help them?” He sighed and backed up a bit, but she moved in again, backing him up against the door.

He was sick of this. There was no explanation that would satisfy her. Indeed, none of what he’d said had convinced her of anything besides his own insanity, ill intentions, or both. She would stay here, in her fake life with her fake husband and her son, and she would never return to Storybrooke. David and Snow, and who knows who else, would suffer an unknown fate now that they’d been re-cursed, and he himself was doomed to forever wander the Land Without Magic, without friends, without family, and without a home.

“I know them for the same reason I know about your superpower,” he said angrily. “The same way I know about your tattoo and the bootlace. I know all this because I know you.”

“I’ve never met you before in my life,” she retorted.

He laughed madly, exhausted from the emotional ordeal. “Oh, you’ve more than met me, love. You’ve fought alongside me. You’ve shared a drink with me. And one time, you did this.” And before he could stop himself, and more importantly, before she could stop him, he grabbed her by the collar of her coat and pressed his lips to hers.

To his surprise and (he had to admit to himself) pleasure, Swan didn’t immediately resist. Her lips were just as he remembered, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her into him and running his tongue against her bottom lip. Almost automatically, her mouth opened for him, and he felt her tongue against his as she leaned into his bare chest. He had forgotten that he was nearly nude, and the reminder sent a flood of sexual scenarios into his mind.

And then it was over. She seemed to immediately come to, as if she hadn’t realized until that second that she’d been kissing a man who wasn’t her husband.

“What the hell are you doing?” she said angrily. She seemed equally shocked at her own behavior as she was by his. And before he could say anything, either to try to explain or (and if he was being honest with himself, he would admit this would be more likely) goad her into resuming the kiss, she pushed him out of the way of the door and left.

At least this time, he thought to himself, _she’d_ been the one who couldn’t handle it. But he spent the rest of the night, lying awake in bed, replaying the kiss in his mind, knowing that he still couldn’t handle it either.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He knew she’d be back. He would have liked to say that it was just a gut feeling, and that the two of them were so in sync, even without her memory, that he could just _feel_ that she would step back into his life.

But reality was much more mundane than that. She’d left her phone at his apartment.

He’d woken up to the damn thing making an incredibly obnoxious noise the day after Swan had visited. At first, he considered trying to answer it; he’d seen it done before, and the technology was surprisingly intuitive-looking. But Swan was already angry enough with him; as much as it might catch her attention if a mysterious stranger was answering her important phone calls, it would do little to earn her trust or respect.

It made noises the rest of the day. Sometimes, it just made a dinging noise, and other times, it emitted a long, irritating, out of key song. How Swan could stand to be around such a maddeningly noisy device, he would never understand.

That evening, he was stretched out on the sofa, eating an apple and reading an old book of Bae’s that seemed mildly interesting, when the phone started ringing and kept ringing. Every time it stopped, there would be a pause, and it would start again. He was ready to chuck the damn piece of technology out the window, but when he picked it up, he saw, “Home” written on the screen, and a photo of Bae and Henry below it.

He followed the screen’s instructions (and was quite amused that the image truly slid when he touched it) and lifted the phone to his ear as he’d seen so many of this land’s inhabitants do. “Emma Swan’s phone?” he said nervously.

“Damn right, that’s my phone, and for the last time, it’s not ‘Swan.’” It was Swan. “I’ve been calling all day. Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I answered your phone, to be honest. Should I bring the phone to your apartment?”

“Well you _should,”_ she snapped, as if he had intentionally caused her to leave it behind. “But it’s probably better if I come there to get it.” She paused. “I just don’t want you hanging around my family.”

“I’d be happy to meet you here. Shall I meet you downstairs?”

“I’ll ring the bell, so just buzz me in.” He had no idea what she meant, but she’d hung up already.

Thirty minutes later, the terrible, sudden buzzing noise he’d heard last night briefly filled the apartment. He realized that it must be Swan ringing the bell (although if it was a bell, it should have sounded like a bell; this world was confusing), and he stood in front of his door, trying to figure out how to, as she had put it, buzz her in. He spotted a little panel of buttons and pressed the first one. When nothing happened, just to be sure, he pressed the other two as well.

A few minutes later, as he wondered if he should just go downstairs and let her in, she knocked at the door.

“I’m sorry about your phone,” he said as he let her in. In truth, she had been the one to forget it; she’d set it down on the table when she’d found Bae’s old mail. But it was his own behavior that had caused her to leave in such a rush that she’d forgotten it. “Thank you for coming by to get it.”

“Thanks for not making prank calls on it or whatever,” she mumbled, picking it up from the table where he’d left it and slipping it into her coat pocket. She kept her head down, as if she might burn him to cinders with her glare if she met his gaze.

“Swan, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

That got her attention, and she finally looked him in the eye. He had been expecting anger, and there certainly was some. But he hadn’t expected to see fear and confusion.

“I did what I did out of frustration, and it wasn’t fair to you. You—your heart, it’s not free, and I put you in a terrible position.”

She chuckled. “The way you talk—it’s weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, about my heart not being free. That’s a fancy way of saying that I’m married.”

But it wasn’t. He didn’t care if she was married, or if she believed she was married. That had nothing to do with her heart; Milah had taught him that. But he stayed quiet.

He thought (and feared) that she would leave as soon as she retrieved her phone, but instead, she wandered around the tiny apartment as if it were an art gallery. “This isn’t really your apartment, is it?” she asked, touching the spines of the books on the bookshelf.

He scratched his ear nervously. “It isn’t, no. But I had nowhere else to stay, and clearly Neal isn’t using it.”

A decorative item on the window caught her attention, and he heard her whisper something under her breath, though he couldn’t quite catch it. She turned her head towards him. “That’s right; you think Neal lived here.”

“He did live here.”

She returned to the table where Neal’s mail was sitting and proceeded to open and read each item one at a time. He wasn’t sure what she expected him to do while she engaged in that particular activity; after a few moments, he walked to the window and leaned against the sill. It had begun to rain, and the lights in the city gave the precipitation an otherworldly feel.

A few minutes later, Swan’s voice startled him, although she wasn’t talking to him. He jerked around at the sound, only to find her using her phone.

“May I speak to your supervisor? Hello, I’m Emma ... Swan. I’ve been hired to look into the whereabouts of a Mr. Neal Cassidy. Can you confirm that he either is or was employed with your organization?” She paused, listening to the answer. “Thank you. What were the dates of his employment? Yes, thank you. Actually, yes, that would be immensely helpful. ‘Ee,’ ‘ess,’ ‘see,’ ‘bonds’ at gee-mail dot com. Sure. ‘Ee’ as in ‘echo,’ ‘ess’ as in ‘sierra,’ and ‘see’ as in ‘Charlie.’ And then ‘bonds’ as in ‘bail bonds.’ Thank you very much.”

After ending the call, she resumed rifling through the mail. Finally accepting that she was investigating, and that she was clearly ignoring him for the time being, Hook approached the table to grab his book, and then proceeded to sit at the kitchen table to read.

“Harry Potter is an odd choice for a man in his thirties,” she commented, but she didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t know how to respond.

Several minutes later, her phone rang.

“Hey, babe,” she said as she picked up. “I’m just doing some research for a new case. Don’t worry, you know that I know what I’m doing. My contact wasn’t available until after working hours. Neal, he’s twelve, he knows how to get ready for bed, and he knows that my cases sometimes mean I’m home late. Well, not _everyone_ gets to work nine to five, Neal.” Her eyes flicked up at him, as if to warn him that he’d better not comment on the conversation. “No, it’s not about him, okay? I haven’t seen him since he came to the apartment looking for me. Listen, I really can’t talk right now, so if you could just give Henry a kiss goodnight for me … okay, I’ll try to be home soon.” She ended the call, looking angry and embarrassed that there had been someone present to hear the conversation she’d had.

“It is quite late,” Hook finally said, setting the book down.

“I’m not done,” she said stubbornly, gesturing at the mail in front of her.

“You have my word that I won’t disturb a single page of your research,” he assured her. “Nor will I disappear. You can be sure of finding me here.”

He felt tiny as she assessed him, as if she were taking each word in her hands and shaking it for truth. “Okay.” And she stood, made a point of checking for all of her belongings, especially her phone, and left.

The next morning, the city was gray with rain; even if he hadn’t promised Swan that he wouldn’t leave the apartment, he wouldn’t have been inclined to.

His confinement in the apartment was more difficult than he’d expected. He’d flown through those Harry Potter books, but Bae only had three of them, and he was _sure_ that there had to be another installment in the serial. He’d tried to start some of the other books on the shelf, but found most of them incomprehensible, and he’d already reread the books he’d brought with him from the Jolly Roger.

The sheets of paper strewn about the table in front of the sofa were tempting to sort through; Swan appeared to glean a significant amount of information from them, and he wanted to see what he could discover for himself. But he had sworn to her that he wouldn’t touch. She might notice if a single sheet were out of place, and it wouldn’t do to lose whatever trust he’d gained (if he had, in fact, gained any at all).

Out of boredom, he cleaned the apartment again, but due to his earlier, more thorough scrubbings, there wasn’t much that needed cleaning. Some of his clothes were beginning to smell; he used the stall in the washroom to wet his clothes, and he washed them with some soap he’d found on the sink. Then, although he’d just washed the other day, he did so again; regular bathing was a pleasure he’d never had before, and he found he quite enjoyed it.

Feeling refreshed, he decided to make another go of one of Bae’s confusing books, and he found it enjoyable, although a little unnerving. When Swan hit the obnoxiously loud bell early in the evening, it was at a particularly heart-pounding moment in the novel, and he nearly fell out of his chair in fright.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Reading anything by Stephen King isn’t something you should do when you’re home alone,” was the only thing she said as she walked in, sat on the sofa, and began sorting through the papers once more.

He went back to his book. “You might be right, but it’s still an enjoyable book,” he said, trying to make conversation. “Although I don’t understand why this dog is so difficult to kill.” But she was already absorbed in her task and didn’t reply.

The pinging noise from her phone shocked him again a few minutes later. “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to make you jump out of your skin.” She observed her phone for a moment. “Do you have a computer and printer I could borrow?”

He wasn’t sure what a computer was, and he doubted that he’d somehow missed a printing press in this tiny apartment. “I don’t think so,” he said uncertainly. “As I’ve said before, this isn’t actually my dwelling. You’re welcome to look around all you want.”

She frowned a bit before rising and searching the bedroom. When she returned empty handed, she said, “I’ll be back in an hour, if that’s all right.” She bit her lip. “I could pick up something to eat if you’d like.” His stomach growled loudly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. “Any food allergies? Or preferences?”

“I’ll eat whatever you procure,” he said, wondering what on earth food allergies meant.

Approximately an hour later, Swan returned with a box of what smelled like the delicious food he’d sampled earlier in the week. “I got pepperoni,” she said, as if that should mean something to him. “Do you have any plates?”

They sat at the table, silently eating (and he decided that he, in fact, loved pepperoni). Before he could ask her if the food was the only reason she’d left, she reached down to her large shoulder bag, which she’d dropped next to her chair, and pulled out a thin stack of papers.

She took a deep breath.

“This file is from a bank downtown,” she said quietly. “Neal worked there for three years. Apparently, just over a year ago, he put in for a few weeks of time off to take care of his sick father, and he disappeared without a trace. His employer called his emergency contact—his _fiancée_ —but they couldn’t reach her.” She pulled out a sheet of paper and presented it to him; Bae’s face was in the corner, in miniature, and his personal information was listed beneath.

“Neal and I lived in Boston until this past year,” she continued. “It’s not possible that he could have been working as a bank teller here when we lived four hours away. And, besides, he’s an architect. He wouldn’t know the first thing about working at a bank.”

“Swan, none of this is real,” he said softly. She lifted her eyes from the papers strewn in front of her and met his. “I mean, your life here. You drifted all over the country before briefly settling in Boston. Alone. You’d put Henry up for adoption. When he was ten, he found you and brought you to Storybrooke.”

She tilted her head back, looking exasperated. “And why did he bring me to Storybrooke?”

It was a literal and a figurative moment of truth. “To break the curse on the town.”

He had been sure that she would scoff at his answer, and that she would storm out, but she did neither. She stared at the ceiling impassively. “What was the curse?”

“It took away everyone’s happiness. No one remembered who they were.” He took a deep breath. “Or who they loved. People were separated from their parents, their children, their lovers. Time stood still for almost thirty years until you arrived and broke the curse.”

“And how did I do such a miraculous thing?” Sarcasm crept into her voice.

“True Love’s Kiss,” he replied.

“Neal?”

“Henry.”

“Oh.”

She lifted and then lowered her slice of pizza without taking a bite, as if she’d thought better of it. “You say we know each other, but I don’t remember you. Are you saying I’m cursed?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he admitted. “Through a complicated chain of events that I’m sure will make more sense to you if I explain later, everyone in the town was going to be sent back to the realm we came from, and—”

“What? The realm you came from?”

“It’s not important,” he cut her off. He tightened his lips in annoyance until she held up her hands; the gesture seemed to imply that she wouldn’t interrupt again. “We all had to go back, but Henry couldn’t because he was born in this realm. You and … Neal, you’d both escaped the first curse, and so you could go with Henry and take care of him.”

She took advantage of his pause to ask more questions. “Are you saying that Neal and I are both from, well, from wherever you’re from? Why don’t I remember any of this?”

“With the town gone, never having existed, all of your memories of it were going to disappear as well. That would leave Henry with almost no memories, as he grew up in Storybrooke, and you and Neal would both lose your knowledge of your relationship with Henry, or your own reconciliation. So Regina—Henry’s adoptive mother—provided you with new memories.”

“This whole story needs it’s own Wikipedia entry,” she muttered. “You’re talking about all this like magic is real, you know.”

“You wanted an explanation, love.”

“So I don’t remember you because the woman who supposedly adopted my son gave me new memories?”

“You lost your memories of Storybrooke and everyone connected to it. That included me.”

“What’s this realm you say you—well, _we’re_ from? Do you mean … Canada?”

This was going to be difficult to explain. “Do you have any favorite fairy tales?”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite. Humor me.”

“Beauty and the Beast.”

“Can you briefly describe it?”

“Oh come on,” she said, irritated. “Everyone’s seen the Disney movie. Belle is a beautiful girl who agrees to stay with the horrible Beast to save her father’s life, and she and the Beast fall in love, and their love transforms him back into a prince. And there are singing household objects and stuff.”

“Well, I don’t have the best relationship with Belle, or her Beast. Although very few people ever _did_ get along with that man.”

“They’re not real.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that Neal and I are fairy tale characters, and we come from some kind of enchanted fairytale land?”

“Well … yes.”

That induced a chuckle. “Then who are we?”

“Neal’s the son of Rumplestiltskin, who’s also the man who cut off my hand.” He waved his prosthetic at her. “Meanwhile, your parents are Snow White and Prince … well, his name is David, but he was pretending to be Prince James, and to be honest, it’s a very long story.”

“I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming?” She practically squeaked with skepticism.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “It’s just such a cloyingly sweet nickname,” he explained. “No one except Snow calls him that.”

“You’re mad.”

“Is that what your superpower is telling you?”

She assessed him. “Just because you believe something doesn’t make it real.”

“Aye, that’s fair. But you have evidence in front of you that suggests what you’ve believed to be true may not be. I’m offering you an explanation.”

“It’s illogical.”

“Just because you _believe_ it’s illogical …” He trailed off, letting her pick up on his implication. She sat silently for a few minutes before shaking her head vigorously before abruptly rising from the table and pacing around the small living area.

“Do you need to be alone?” he asked. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

“No,” she replied nervously, and she continued pacing. Unsure of what he should do, he stood and collected the remnants of the meal and began cleaning up. When he held the box containing the remaining pizza and stared at it uncertainly, she said, “Just throw it in the fridge.”

“The what?”

“The fridge,” she repeated, as if everyone and their mother knew what a fridge was (although in this realm, that was probably true). She pointed at the cold closet in the kitchen; that did make sense. The pizza safely stowed away, he got to work on the dishes. Swan seemed especially unnerved when he removed his prosthetic and brace; he missed the days when she hardly gave his left arm a second glance.

“Why are you really here, Swan?” he finally asked.

“I’m investigating,” she said.

“Because you believe me?” She didn’t answer right away. He dried the first plate and began washing the second.

“I dreamt about you,” she said finally. He nearly dropped the plate.

“You did?”

“We … we were fighting. I knocked you out with a compass.”

“I hate to spoil your victory, love, but you didn’t knock me out.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who knows what I dreamt.”

“I’m quite serious. I was conscious the whole time. I even saw Cora try to take your heart.”

She was shocked. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That … about that. The heart.”

“I told you, I wasn’t knocked out. Swan, I let you win. You don’t have to feel bad about it, love; I’ve got a lot more sword-fighting experience than you do.” Hundreds more years of experience, but if she was already having trouble with the idea of magic, it seemed foolish to bring up his actual age.

“No,” she said as he dried the second plate. “I told you that I dreamt we’d fought, but I didn’t say anything about someone trying to rip out my heart. How could you have guessed?”

He set the clean plate down and dried his arms and hand. “Will you answer my question? Please?” she asked.

He stepped over to her, nervously crossing his bare arms. “It wasn’t a dream, Swan. It was a memory.”

“I’m Emma _Cassidy.”_ Her voice cracked. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Swan?’”

“I think you know,” he replied softly.

Within moments, her arms were around his neck, her hands were in his hair, and her lips were against his. This time, she didn’t pull away.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Swan,” he choked out hoarsely, interrupting the kiss; she immediately resumed it. He couldn’t believe his good fortune, that he _finally_ had her in his arms, and that she had been enthusiastically kissing him for several minutes.

But she wasn’t herself. If she wanted him, it wasn’t because she really wanted _him —_not the way he wanted her to want him. She didn’t know him at all; he was just the stranger with one hand who’d invaded her life and begun to destroy it. He broke the kiss, but couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

“That wasn’t all I dreamt,” she murmured into his neck. He felt tears wet his skin. No, he wouldn’t have her like this. It wasn’t right.

“What else did you dream, love?” He tightened his arms around her and buried his own face into her shoulder.

“I dreamt of you in the hospital … I’d handcuffed you to the bed, and I was interrogating you after you’d done something terrible.”

“Not one of my finest moments, I can admit.”

“I dreamt of us arguing about letting someone die to save the town—Storybrooke,” she added quickly. “I was trying to convince you to do the right thing, but I don’t know if you did.”

“I did,” he said. “Eventually.”

“I dreamt that we were in a jungle and we were kissing passionately.”

“A favorite memory of mine, I assure you.”

Her lips were on his again; she kissed him gently and repeatedly, talking in between. “That kiss, it did something.” Kiss. “Every time, it feels more familiar.” Kiss. “Well, I mean, obviously, because I keep kissing you.” Kiss. “But that’s not what I mean.” Kiss. “I think I’ve kissed you before.”

He carefully pushed her back and studied her flushed face. “Swan, listen to me. I want you to have all your memories back. But it’s late. You need to get home to your family.”

“I told Neal that I was gone for a case and that I’d be back Sunday,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

He blinked. “Had you planned to stay here the entire time?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what would happen. But I figured that if this was a disaster, I could go home and claim I’d figured out my case early.”

“And has it been a disaster?” He held his breath.

“I … I don’t think so,” she admitted sheepishly. “I don’t understand what’s happening, but I just—I just have a gut feeling.”

“Well, you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I’m happy to take the sofa.”

“Thank you.” She untangled her arms from around him, grabbed her bag, and headed into the washroom. He felt suddenly naked and cold, although he was fully dressed, and the apartment was still a little humid and stuffy from the rainfall.

When she emerged, she had a white stick poking out of her mouth, and she was dressed in night clothes. “Thank you, um,” she said, her words obscured slightly from the stick. She set her bag down, grabbed the stick, and began rubbing it against her teeth. “Hold on.” She returned to the washroom, turned the water on and then off again, and returned with the stick in her hand. “I’m so embarrassed to admit this, but I don’t remember your name. And I know I’ve heard it more than once.”

He smiled sadly. “I take no offense, love. It’s Killian. I hope you sleep well.” And with that, he turned off the light in the living area, lay down on the couch, still fully dressed, and pretended to fall asleep.

The next morning, he awoke to a heavenly smell floating through the apartment. When he opened his eyes, he saw Swan, fully dressed, in front of one of the kitchen appliances. She turned when she heard him shift and sit up. “Good morning,” she said, and he smiled at the pleasantry. “I’m making pancakes. I had to run to the store—you’ve got absolutely _nothing_ in this apartment. What have you been eating?”

He dodged the question. “I appreciate the meal. Thank you. Is there some way I can assist?”

“Yeah, you can go change. I can’t believe you slept in your clothes from yesterday.”

By the time he returned from the washroom (even before the memory loss, he wouldn’t have wanted to upset Swan by changing in front of her), dressed in some of Bae’s more comfortable clothes, Swan had finished cooking and was putting two plates on the table. He was pleased to see that pancakes were something he’d already encountered; a year ago, he’d ordered some at Granny’s, shortly before Pan’s curse was enacted. They ate in silence, but it was of a more amicable nature rather than an unsociable one.

“Please, let me wash up as a way of expressing my gratitude,” he said as she stood up and began carrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

She paused mid-step and stood still as he took the dishes from her and finished transporting them. _“That’s what the ‘thank you’ was for,”_ she said quietly.

“Sorry, love?”

“I said that. I said that to you. You were trying to get me to kiss you.”

He slowly began washing. “Aye.”

“And it worked.”

“Aye. Well, I suppose. You took a little more prompting than that, lass.”

“I dreamt more last night.” He didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem to expect a reply. “We were climbing a beanstalk. You made me think about Neal. And then we faced a giant together.”

“And do you remember how we left the giant’s home?” he asked patiently.

“No. The dream ended first.”

A few minutes later, she stepped beside him and began drying the wet dishes and cookware. “I also dreamt of Neal.”

“Oh?”

“When we were young, we fenced some watches he’d stolen, and used the money to make a new life,” she said. “That’s the money we used to move to Boston when we found out we were having Henry.”

“This isn’t what you dreamt, I take it?”

“I dreamt that Neal tipped off the police and let me take the fall for the theft. I dreamt that I gave birth to Henry in prison. That I _abandoned_ him,” she added miserably.

“You weren’t abandoning him, Swan. You were giving him his best chance. And Henry knows that. He’s forgiven you and he loves you.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I am not. You broke the curse with True Love’s Kiss. That doesn’t work if one person doesn’t truly love the other.”

“Then tell me this,” she said, setting down the now damp towel and handing him a dry one. “When you kissed me two nights ago, I began to have these strange dreams. When we kissed last night, I had even more of them. What does that mean?”

He was silent as he dried his arms and hand. She continued. “I mean, on the one hand, if that had been True Love’s Kiss or whatever, it should have restored all my supposed memories completely, right? But on the other hand, if it had been just a normal kiss, then nothing would have happened.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he replied. “You’d have to ask Rumplestiltskin. Or Regina.”

“I had dreams about Regina,” she admitted. “I dreamt that I cut down part of an apple tree just to piss her off. I dreamt that I almost choked her to death in a storage closet at a hospital. I dreamt that she and I rescued Henry from Peter Pan.” He chuckled. “What, is that supposed to be funny?”

“Peter Pan is no joke,” he admitted. “It’s just amusing because the two of you hated each other so much, but when it came to saving Henry, you put your differences aside. You made quite the team.”

 _“We make quite the team,”_ she said. His heart skipped a beat.

“I hope it didn’t upset you,” he said with a weak smile, recalling the same moment.

She frowned. As much as it was a familiar expression, he hated that he was causing it to appear so often. “You said Rumplestiltskin took your hand?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

He gulped. “His wife ran off with me. She was tired of being married to him and wanted a life of adventure. We—” His voice cracked. “We fell in love. Once Rumplestiltskin acquired his dark powers, he found us and confronted us. He murdered his wife in front of me, and then cut off my hand.”

“But you said … you said that Rumplestiltskin was Neal’s dad,” she pointed out. “There’s no way you’re that much older than Neal. Unless his mom was seriously robbing the cradle, it’s just not possible.”

“There are … there are ways to prevent aging,” he said carefully. “You’d be surprised at how old Neal is.”

“Peter Pan is real?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, I dreamt he was real.”

“It was a memory, not a dream,” he reminded her. “And he was real. He’s gone now. It’s his fault that you’re here without your memories.”

“Peter Pan is real. You prevented yourself from aging. You have one hand.”

Here it was.

“You think you’re Captain Hook.”

He rolled his eyes. “As if there was any ‘thinking’ to be done about it,” he muttered, strapping his brace back on. He strode to the bedroom and fished his hook from his long coat.

“Crap, I’d almost forgotten about that pirate costume you were wearing.”

“Costume?” he asked. “I’m a little offended, Swan. I don’t make fun of the way you dress.” He looked at her tartan pants as he returned to the living area. “Although maybe I should.” He handed her the hook.

“You really _do_ think you’re Captain Hook,” she said unhappily.

“Swan, think back to all your dreams. Please.”

Her mouth was a thin line. “They’re just dreams.” But, as if she were conducting an experiment, she carefully lifted his left arm, inserted the hook into it, and clicked it into place.

“Do you _really_ think they’re all just dreams?” he asked.

In response, she kissed him again, at first tentatively and then hungrily, pressing her tongue against his lips. He broke the kiss. “You didn’t answer my question.” But she wasn’t listening.

She was touching his hook. “You stabbed Gold with this,” she said. And suddenly, an intense look of surprise and understanding flooded her face. “We were _here._ Oh God. I remember. We came here looking for Baelfire, and you followed us. You tried to kill Gold with dreamshade, and we had to sail the Jolly Roger back to Storybrooke.” Her eyes flicked to his face guiltily. “I knocked you out and locked you in a storage closet.”

“I had it coming.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” She began pacing. “I had Henry with me because Cora was on the loose in Storybrooke and I wasn’t going to leave him in danger, and I panicked when I found out that Nael was Baelfire and I tried to hide Henry from him, and I lied just like Regina.” She paused, as she had run out of breath. “Oh God, he was so angry with me for lying.”

“Swan, you need to calm down, please, love.” He gripped her arm to stop her.

“‘Swan,’” she repeated, and then she turned a delicate shade of greenish yellow as she glanced down at the rings on her left hand. “I’m Emma _Swan.”_ She sounded relieved. “Oh my God, I thought I was married to Neal!”

“If that’s not what you wanted, you could have protested a little more at the town line when Regina told you her plan.”

“Hook, how on earth was I going to argue with her? She was devastated over losing Henry! And this was what was best for Henry—what kind of a mother would I be if I was all, ‘Oh yeah, well, can we not have us be married because I don’t love Neal, and I don’t want to pretend-love him?’ I can practically see my mother’s disappointed face. I had no choice, even if I didn’t want all this.”

He grinned triumphantly. “I _knew_ you didn’t want it,” he said proudly.

“Of _course_ you knew, Killian.” She rolled her eyes yet again. “It’s honestly incredibly annoying how well you read me sometimes.” She paused. “Why are you grinning like that?”


	7. Epilogue

It had taken no small amount of lying for Swan to convince Bae that he and Henry should come to Maine with her, ostensibly for a case. It didn’t help that it meant Henry would miss a significant amount of school on almost no notice, and when she finally told Bae that yes, it was about her parents, and yes, she had seen that weirdo with the leather coat again even though she said she wouldn’t, he was extremely resistant. However, she finally put her foot down, insisting that it was important that they find her parents; she played the “you signed up for this when you married me” card, and once she got Henry on her side, Bae caved.

Bae set out with Henry early the next day with a map that Swan had carefully annotated for them, in a car that Swan had borrowed long-term from an old client of hers. After they’d departed, Hook arrived, his belongings, his leathers, and some of Bae’s old clothes neatly packed in this leather satchel and a spare suitcase Swan had given him. He sat quietly at her kitchen table as she packed her own suitcase.

She sighed. “You know, we _did_ have a good life here.” She folded a pair of canvas pants and shoved them in her luggage. “And Neal and Henry still believe it’s real.”

“But it’s not,” he reminded her. He absent-mindedly checked his satchel for his hook.

“I know,” she said. She packed a shirt. “You know, I always wondered what it would have been like if Neal and I had stayed together.”

“Was it what you had dreamt of?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“No,” she said. “What’s funny is that Regina’s _memories_ were all really good. I remembered _years_ of being happily married to Neal. But over the past year, we’d been fighting a lot more.”

“I should come clean,” he interrupted. “I overheard your conversation the day I came to find you. I know he told you not to see me.”

“You also heard the phone conversation, when he was angry with me for not being home.” And she’d told him how difficult it had been to convince Bae to come to Storybrooke; in a single week, that was a lot of fighting.

“Is he always so controlling?”

“Not controlling, exactly.” She placed a pair of leather boots in her second suitcase. “Patronizing. He acts like he knows better than I do about just about anything. It’s irritating, since he’s an architect—or I guess, he thinks he is, and I thought he was—and I’ve always felt like as a bail bondsperson, I have more real-world expertise.”

“That doesn’t make for the best relationship, always thinking you know best,” Hook admitted. “Everyone has something they can learn from the other person.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Like one person can teach the other person to trust. Or one person can teach the other person to let go of revenge.”

She froze while packing a pair of socks. “Hook,” she scolded.

“You seemed to want examples, love,” he pointed out. “And I was speaking hypothetically.”

“Sure,” she said sarcastically, but she grinned a little. She packed the socks. “I didn’t feel like Neal trusted me, or that I trusted him.”

“That would put a damper on your relationship.”

“I think I’m all set, if you want to grab your bags.”

They walked down to the yellow vehicle without speaking; Swan looked as if she might shed a tear or two as she locked the door of the apartment, but she seemed to shake away her sadness as they got settled into the car. “I hope everyone has their memories this time. You didn’t say if they did or not.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I got a message by bird, telling me that a new curse was coming, your parents needed you, and that I needed to find you and bring you to Storybrooke.”

“At least I have no trouble believing this time,” she said. “Last time, I didn’t until Regina poisoned Henry. True Love’s Kiss didn’t work till I believed, and I didn’t believe until I couldn’t deny any longer that magic existed.” She buckled her seatbelt, and Hook mirrored her actions.

“Are you ready?” she asked, smiling nervously.

He thought back to that night in the apartment, when he had kissed her for the first time (since Neverland). He thought about the evidence she’d been faced with: the apartment, his knowledge of her life, Bae’s mail and his old job. He thought about when the memories began flooding back, and when they’d all clicked for good.

“I’m ready,” he said, smiling back. She turned the key in the ignition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This ended up being a pretty short story, but it was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it!


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